


Things you say in the dark

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25752727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: A drunken conversation yields interesting results.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	Things you say in the dark

A gin- fueled slumber party was underway in the Swamp, Charles discovered, returning late from rounds that had been particularly grim. Unstable shifts in the weather had led to a rash of illnesses that had swept the front lines, battalion aid, and Post Op. He’d signed no fewer than four death certificates in twelve hours and now to remind him he was alive his hands hurt, his chest hurt, the arches of his feet hurt, and his back hurt, anticipating another night in a cot that was too short for anything resembling comfort. Much as he hated psychology (and he had good reasons), Winchester knew that his pains were psychosomatic; usessly physical bursts of sympathy for men who would soon be covered with loose earth. 

He ignored the jokes that arose when he entered, undressing with an aloof efficiency that was so quiet and oblivious to his companions that he really might have been alone. Cocooned in blankets that never seemed to trap any warmth, he passed in and out of sleep. 

Strangely, it was the  _ quiet _ that woke him. The booze they’d been swallowing at a clip that would have made the Surgeon General wince had knocked O’Reilley out of the running and had considerably mellowed the trio that remained awake. They had grown maudlin, Charles noted, marking the sounds of their fuzzy voices, talking of things that could not be.

“Whaddaya want most in this place, Hawk?” asked Hunnicutt. “Like if you could have anything at all - but here.”

It almost made Charles angry. What was the point? Hadn’t those men who had taken their last breaths tonight had wishes, too? What good had they done? 

Hawkeye predictably constructed an elaborate response that included a harem and real meals before vollying the question back for an even more predictable (and tortured) reply, wherein BJ wished for his family, then rescinded the wish because he really did love them - his tiny daughter and his wife - and no one who loved someone would  _ ever _ bring them into their hell, not even for their own desperately desired comfort. This left Klinger.

“There’s no point asking  _ you _ ,” Hawk said, jostling the Corporal’s shoulder. “It’s section 8 all the way.”

BJ protested. “That’s something to get  _ out _ of here. You said something  _ here.  _ What do you say, Klinger? What would make our little hornet’s nest in paradise better for you?” 

“Winchester’s tongue in my mouth, sir, if it’s alright to say so about a sup-sperior officer.” 

There was a moment of shocked silence and then Hawkeye was - none too gently - pummeling Klinger with his pillow. “You’ve been holding out on us! When did this happen?!”

Klinger spat out a wad of feathers that had escaped the stitching. “Thought you knew, sir. Sirs. Figured everybody did, to be honest.” 

Thereafter, Winchester listened quietly, eyes closed, as ten feet away, the Corporal recounted the story of  _ falling in love with him _ . 

BJ tried to talk him out of it. “Winchester’s a cold fish, Klinger. If you’re going to throw your heart away, do it on someone worthy.”

“No offense, Captain Hunnicutt, sir, but if someone had told you not to fall for  _ Mrs.  _ Hunnicutt, would you have listened?

“Of course not, but that’s hardly,” BJ began.

_ Interesting,  _ thought Winchester.  _ So, our California Captain is not entirely without prejudices. _

Hawkeye must have been having the exact same thoughts (terrifying as  _ that  _ might be) because he grabbed Hunnicutt’s shoulder and gave a quick shake of his head, intended to entirely negate whatever it was that the Captain had been about to say. Then he squeezed the Corporal’s shoulder. “Love, huh?” was all he said. “Lucky you.” 

A panicked light came into Klinger’s eyes then; he’d been drinking and said too much. “You’re not gonna tease him about this, are you, sirs? That really wouldn’t be fair.” 

They assured him that they would not. Even if they had, knowing what he now knew, Winchester would have prevented (as much as one could prevent anything with  _ Pierce’s  _ mouth in play) the Corporal from hearing about it. He did not deserve to be embarrassed for his feelings, however surprised Charles had been to learn of them. 

BJ seemed repentant about his initial reaction too, offering, “You know, Klinger, Winchester is a pretty heavy sleeper.”

“It’s true,” Hawk confirmed. “It’s let us pull a lot of pranks.”

Charles would have quibbled on two counts: it had been  _ a few  _ rather than a lot… and shouldn’t the likes of licensed professionals be doing something better with their off hours than tormenting him? 

“I don’t want to prank him, sirs,” Klinger answered - confused but charmingly loyal.

“No, but there’s no reason you can’t curl up beside him,” said Hunnicutt (more, Winchester guessed, to win back the favor of his quixotic best friend than out of any concern for Klinger). 

“And if he wakes up?” Klinger asked, but not without a certain note of hopeful softness that was really quite endearing. 

“You’re drunk,” Hawkeye said. “We all are - it’s a built in cover for a lot of things. Do it, Klinger. It’s probably the best you’re gonna get.” He didn’t like saying so (it felt cruel) but Boston gentry and Toledo blue collar? It wasn’t an easy match to envision - and that was without considering some other crucial factors like their gender and being stuck in a war zone. 

Charles heard the Corporal rise and come closer. Klinger moved soft as a cat in the dark, even if his inebriated companions tittered like fools. He  _ felt  _ soft too, making his limber form into a series of curves that molded him to the surgeon’s side as if he’d been intended for just that pocket of space all along. He gave a sleepy, happy sigh and received a thumbs up from the pile of men on the floor (even cots had been too tall to aspire to on  _ this  _ bender). Soon, the only sound was a three part symphony of boozy snores. 

Winchester opened his eyes, saw Klinger panic, and held a finger to his lips, eyebrows lifting. Klinger nodded his agreement. He didn’t know why he was being asked to be quiet, but he would dutifully remain so. Winchester shifted a few inches until he was poised above him, arms framing his slender shoulders. Then he kissed the baffled Corporal so hard and so deep that he made his hips rise with longing. 

Klinger didn’t make an  _ audible  _ sound but Winchester still felt him cry out for him. He used the opening, reasoning that anyone who would do less was clearly a fool. Besides, hadn’t Klinger, in his adorably crude way articulated precisely  _ this  _ wish? 

It had been a good choice. 

Winchester hadn’t been buried this deeply inside someone in far too long and he savored it, twisting his tongue to visit each corner, playfully mapping the sensitive roof of Klinger’s mouth, brightening his yielding lips with kisses that were as intense as they were affectionate. 

When he drew back, Klinger dropped like a marionette with severed strings, body forming a tight ball that sought to hold onto every fast-vanishing sensation. It was a gesture that was completely  _ Klinger _ as well as being completely, spontaneously guileless; Charles had never seen anyone do anything even a little bit similar and it charmed him. His fingers trembled as he stroked the younger man’s cheek, waiting for him to open his eyes.

His voice was a whisper when he spoke, hungry, still, and aghast, “ _ Major _ ?” 

Winchester brushed his fingers over Klinger’s pretty lips, tongue flicking out to taste him on his own. “I think, Maxwell, that it might speed things, ah, along if you call me by my name.” 

The Corporal just nodded at that; if he spoke now, the Major, Charles, he mentally corrected himself, was going to hear  _ everything  _ … assuming he hadn’t pretty much pieced it together already. 

“I do not know your preference, mine own, but there are some things for which I desire no audience,” Charles said into the curve of his ear, with a nod toward the sleepers crowding the floor. “Undressing you for the very first time is very much one of these.”

That answered  _ that _ question; Charles seemed in total possession of all of the relevant information. 

“Unless,” the Major went on, “you prefer to remain here. I will be more than content to kiss you until dawn.” 

Klinger moaned. “Major,”

“Charles.”

“Charles, if we, uh, if I choose the first one, does that mean we can’t do the second thing a different time?” 

This, too, Charles thought, was perfectly Klinger, unwilling to trade one good thing for another if the possibility existed that he might win both - and why shouldn’t he have it all? He’d been very brave. The Major kissed his brow. “Of course not. Shall we?” He gestured to the door. 

That path meant negotiating around and over three prone bodies. Demonstrating a knack for finding unlikely solutions, Klinger pointed to the zipper connecting one canvas panel to another. Charles smiled at him, flattered that his desire for him was such that it was proving inspirational. They slipped through the parted walls and into the night. 

There, to Klinger’s surprise, Charles took his hand. He trembled as those fingers enveloped his. The surgeon paused to regard his softly shaking form. “Do you feel that much?”

Klinger nodded. “Sometimes you make me shake so hard my teeth chatter - and that’s without, uh, any touching.” 

“And do you possess a theory as to the source of this flattering reaction of yours?” 

“Just  _ you _ , sir. It’s sure never happened with anyone else.” 

_ This could be really fun,  _ Charles couldn’t help but think. But Klinger deserved more than his desire. “You’re sure it’s not nerves? Fear? We don’t have to get ahead of ourselves, darling.”

“Major, what I’m afraid of is dying here. And I think you might be the one thing that can make me forget that - if that kiss was anything to go on.” He shook his head, stunned. “How are you not married if you can kiss like that?” 

“I suppose I have rather unique requirements for a bride,” he teased. “Not many people come with a trousseau as extensive as yours, my dear.” 

Klinger gripped his shoulder for support. “Wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Charles slipped an arm around his waist. “I am saying, if you need to hear it, that if you will agree to be mine, I will do my utmost to keep fear from your life and that I will treasure and protect all iterations of your splendid form and winning personality.”

It was the longest compliment Klinger had ever received; it bordered on a declaration. “You’ll let me dress however I want?”

_ Oh, brave new world _ , Charles thought, seeing his eyes. “I shall encourage it and buy you the materials from which to fashion your signature creations,” he promised. “In  _ and  _ out of our bed.” 

Klinger tried to kiss him, got his collarbone instead of his mouth and frowned. “Well? Pick me up!”

Charles blinked rapidly. “Beg pardon?”

“I can’t reach. Pick me up. You can, can’t you?” 

Considering that he had already made his intentions clear (he hadn’t been joking about the trousseau), Winchester had no qualms about lifting his new love and bearing him over any number of thresholds. Klinger kissed him as they went, together, into their new life. 

End! 


End file.
